


absurd behavior (this is how it's always been)

by TheFledglingDM



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (or is it???), Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, POV Kageyama Tobio, Post-Canon, Underage Drinking, in that First Love but it Works Out way, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27293020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFledglingDM/pseuds/TheFledglingDM
Summary: All his life, Kageyama Tobio’s life ran along a straight track.He had dreams, and he had goals, and he had a plan, and nothing was going to get in his way. Elementary school. Middle School. High School. College or the pro league, depending on who recruited him. Local tournaments. Regionals. Sectionals. Nationals. He woke up, he trained, he went to school, he went to practice, he trained more, he went to sleep, he repeated. Life was a straight path from where he was now to the international volleyball stage, and he paved it onebump-set-spikeat a time.__or: Kageyama thought he knew how his life was supposed to go. And then he met Hinata, and everything went off the rails.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 15
Kudos: 108





	absurd behavior (this is how it's always been)

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this is my first foray into the fandom! i hope i did these characters justice. thank you for clicking!
> 
> story concept and title taken from the songs ["Little Miss Perfect" by Taylor Louderman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VhZIikh-z7g) and ["All I've Ever Known" from _Hadestown_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L5A__1-QK4w).

All his life, Kageyama Tobio’s life ran along a straight track.

He had dreams, and he had goals, and he had a plan, and nothing was going to get in his way. Elementary school. Middle School. High School. College or the pro league, depending on who recruited him. Local tournaments. Regionals. Sectionals. Nationals. He woke up, he trained, he went to school, he went to practice, he trained more, he went to sleep, he repeated. Life was a straight path from where he was now to the international volleyball stage, and he paved it one _bump-set-spike_ at a time.

The _set_ was where he shone. It was where his genius was clearest, where his abilities surpassed brilliant and entered the realm of _prodigy._ It was where his mind calmed, taking in millions of little details on the court in a split-second and deciding to whom to send the ball to spike it towards victory. He was right, he _knew_ he was right, and it _enraged_ him when his teammates couldn’t meet his tosses and send them where they needed to go. Didn’t they care? Didn’t they feel this bone-deep _hunger_ for victory? Didn’t they want to stay on the court as long as he did?

(He received his answer in the middle school tournament. Of course his teammates wanted to play. Of course they wanted to win. They just didn’t want to win with _him._ Their coup was sudden, instant, and crushing. They dethroned their king and let his toss bounce to the floor, giving the other team the winning point just to show him how far he had fallen.

_We would rather lose,_ they wordlessly told him as the volleyball rolled across the floor, _than win with you.)_

(And _so what?_ Tobio didn’t need them to win. He was plenty good all on his own. He could serve with elegance and grace. He took receives well. He was tall enough to spike against the highest of iron walls. He was a setter to be feared and emulated.

_I don’t care,_ Tobio told himself on his morning jogs every morning that year between middle and high school.

_I don’t need them,_ Tobio told himself when he lost his chance to attend one of the best volleyball schools in the prefecture because the tale of the King of the Court’s dethronement had spread like wildfire.

_I don’t care,_ Tobio told himself when he practiced how long he could keep setting the ball into the air, over and over and over.

_I can do it alone,_ Tobio told himself when he served balls cleanly over the net to the empty space on the other side of the gym.

_I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.)_

Because Tobio’s life was on the straight and narrow path to success. He watched Nationals and the Olympics and he followed the international leagues and he _knew,_ with a surety that settled in his bone marrow, that he would stand on that stage one day. Nothing and no one would stop him.

Which was why, when they met again, Tobio _hated_ Hinata Shouyo with every _fiber_ of his being. All six feet of it. Hinata was _tiny_ and _annoying_ and _loud_ and… and _orange,_ and he _sucked,_ he was _so freaking bad,_ and it drove Tobio _insane_ because he was going to lose his chance to play volleyball in high school and get his entire life plan thrown off-track because of this _tiny idiot dumbass._

That insane toss he spiked last year had been a fluke, Tobio was sure. There was _no way_ that Hinata “I will receive this ball with my face if it keeps it from hitting the floor” Shouyo was the same as Hinata “I will cross the entire length of the court faster than you can blink and jump high enough to touch the gym lights” Shouyo were… the same person.

Except he _was_ the same. The same irritating little _shit_ who yelled on the court and shat himself dry in anxiety before every other game was the same one who now met Tobio for early workouts, and stayed late for extra practice, and he was still _so_ annoying and _so_ terrible and _so_ stupid and _so_ driven and _so_ energetic and _so_ competitive and, and –

And he refused to take any of Tobio’s shit, giving as good as he got when they got into one of their daily shouting matches. Words flew, like _dumbass_ and _asshole_ and _you clumsy piece of shit_ and _you arrogant tool_ and Tobio _knew_ that this behavior was what got kicked him off of his last team, and he had no real friends here, but he could not _help_ it. He was here to play volleyball and win and join a national team, not hold sniveling Hinata’s tiny baby hands when he tripped over his own feet and face-planted onto the gym floor.

And got up.

And that’s what really threw Tobio, if he were honest. Not the sheer _number_ of times that Hinata made a fool of himself, tripping and stumbling and falling and just sucking just _so much_ (although that _did_ astound him, because Hinata must be some kind of medical miracle) _._ But no matter how many times he fell or fucked up, he always got up, dusted himself off, and called for _one more, one more toss, Kageyama, I almost have it, just one more._

It should have been annoying, teaching Hinata how to crawl and then how to walk through the basics of volleyball. But then Hinata got his legs under him, and he took off at a _sprint._ And now – loathe as Tobio was to ever, ever admit it – it was all he could do to keep up.

And now volleyball wasn’t the only competition in his life. _Everything_ was a fight to the finish – racing to practice, cleanup, who could get the most serves, the most points, the best grades, who could eat more steamed dumplings at team dinner, who could win an arm wrestling match, who could eat more spicy peppers. And Hinata was still loud, brash, and irritating in all the worst ways, but he challenged Tobio in all of the best ways, too, and that… didn’t suck, to be honest.

Not when Tobio was starting to look forward to practice again. And when had that happened? When had volleyball become something like a daily chore, something he did because he felt he _had_ to do it, to accomplish his goals, instead of something he did because he _loved_ it?

Tobio was falling back in love with volleyball, he realized as his first year wore on. As he re-learned what it meant to play on a team – in many ways, as he learned that really meant for the very first time. How it felt to play with people he treated as his equals, with people he cared about and respected (except Tsukishima – _fuck_ that guy). 

How it felt like something that Tobio had been missing had finally slotted itself into place, incongruously, unobtrusively. Because how the hell could Tobio have missed the way Hinata – minuscule, screaming, _orange_ Hinata – had insinuated himself into every aspect of Tobio’s life? How could he have missed how _right_ it felt to have Hinata at his side? A lunch, at practice, on the bus to tournaments, on the court, at post-practice and post-game dinners, in the hallways. 

And the first time they worked out that their rapid-fire toss-spike combo was actually something they could _do,_ and not just a fluke – the first time Tobio realized that Hinata was truly a genius with skill to match his own, that he realized they shared this telepathic ability to communicate without words or hand signals or even eye contact, that he realized he was not alone anymore –

It was… nice. No, _nice_ was too subtle. It was warm. He had been alone for so long, he had forgotten he was lonely. No, _warm_ was not enough, either. It did not adequately describe the way Tobio felt his nerves sizzling under his skin, fingertips to toes, every time he tossed to Hinata and knew in his core that the small orange monster would spike it home.  


It was _electric_.

Playing together. Scoring together. Watching the way Hinata would grin at him, proud (never smug) and sharp and pointed, how his brown eyes would flash gold in the lights –

Now that _… that_ was there Tobio’s life grew complicated.

See, the thing was… Tobio didn’t have any hang-ups about his sexuality. He had known from a young age that he was much more flustered when boys smiled his way than when girls did… anything, really. Even if he hadn’t known that, or been comfortable with it, his childish infatuation with Oikawa and his senior’s relationship with fellow player Iwaizumi would have cured him of those internalized problems. Boys can like boys just was much as they can like girls, just as girls can like girls as they like boys, or both, or none, and really, _who cared_ , because why would Tobio focus on romance when he had more important things to worry about?

Like volleyball. Like his goals. He would not stray from his path or his dreams for anything.

That was not the worst part, though. The worst part was that he knew Hinata would never ask him to capitulate on his dreams. Never demand he compromise. Never ask him to tone it down, to be more realistic in his plans and expectations. Because Hinata was right there with him, egging him on, supporting him and encouraging him and challenging him. He _demanded_ Tobio perform at nothing but his best, because he would accept victory at no less. Because he wanted to defeat Tobio on that very same international stage.

(Some nights, though, Tobio wondered what it would be like to win on that same stage together. It would not settle their rivalry, or answer their question of _who was the better player.)_

But maybe it would answer other questions. Questions Tobio already knew the answer to, really, but he was too afraid to properly ask them.

(Why had Hinata caught Tobio’s attention so completely, so utterly, from their first meeting in middle school? Why had Tobio remembered him all through the rest of that year, unintentionally comparing every player he opposed to him? Why did Tobio feel so utterly fucking _invincible_ when he was on the court with Hinata? How did Hinata bring out the best and worst in him so effortlessly, his best sets and his efforts to be better and his smiles, his sharpest barbs and his childish, competitive nature?)

Everything in Tobio’s life was better and worse for Hinata’s presence, his idiocy and his laughter filling up Tobio’s senses, and he was so endlessly grateful for it. This King felt like he had been asleep a hundred years in his castle, alone and depressed and anxious, and then he had been awoken by a knight in orange armor and a volleyball to the back of his head.

Day by day, Hinata was changing Tobio’s life. And he was ruining it.

Tobio realized he was in love with his best friend and greatest rival in the most plain, boring way. They were second years during their week-long training retreat. It happened in the space between breaths, in the time it took for Tobio to sit onto the grass and wipe his sweaty forehead with the hem of his shirt. 

One moment: there was no Hinata.

The next: Hinata, grinning down at him, skin tanned from days in the sun, new freckles on his cheekbones, offering him a water bottle and a steamed bun.

“Oh,” Tobio said, pushing the word out around the squeezing in his lungs. “Thanks.”

He took a bite. Blinked down at the bun and its filling. “Curry-flavored?”

“Yeah!” Hinata said cheerfully. “I know it’s your favorite, so I grabbed one before they were all taken.” One of the first-years called out to him to get a water and steamed bun of his own. Another demanded Hinata show them how to spike his way through a three-block guard again. Hinata grinned down at Tobio, and it was _lethal._ “Duty calls. _”_

Tobio watched Hinata walk away, his eyes wide. He took in the omnipresent spring in Hinata’s step, the way his curls flashed in the sun, the way his shoulders had filled out and broadened in the past year, stretching his shirt taut.

_Oh,_ Tobio realized, his stomach flashing with something like nausea and something like thrill. _That’s something to ignore forever._

And he tried. 

Really, he did.

And he… mostly succeeded?

It was hard to tell. Because his second year was very much _second verse, same as the first._ He argued with Hinata, and practiced with Hinata, and played with him and ate with him and spent his breaks with him, and they went to each others’ houses and played video games and did all sorts of things actual friends did. And that was fine. It was normal. It was cool. Because they were _friends._ And friends spent time together. They bickered. They encouraged each other, in their own insult-laced way. They did their homework on their bedroom floors, mutually bemoaning English and math and wishing they both weren’t so dumb.

And so _what_ if, sometimes, Tobio had to look away from the full force of Hinata’s grin, because he feared that sunbeam of a smile would burn his eyes? So _what_ if sometimes Hinata’s head fell into Tobio’s shoulder when he napped on the bus or between tournament games? So _what_ if Tobio sometimes let his eyes linger on Hinata when they passed in the halls, so _what_ if Tobio sometimes let their palms sit together for too long when they high-fived?

They were friends. That was it. Tobio could put on a mask as well as a crown. He could not risk losing his focus. He could not lose Hinata. So he would simply do nothing, forever. Forever in stasis, adhering to a status quo of behavior Tsukishima once referred to as _belligerent sexual tension I should start charging for._

(Seriously. Fuck that guy.)

And he was fine with that. Mostly. _Really_. Maybe if he insisted long enough and hard enough, he would believe it himself.

Third year dawned exactly the same. Yamaguchi, to literally everyone’s surprise (except Tsukishima’s), was declared the Karasuno team captain. He immediately enlisted Tobio to help with strategy, trusting him to offer technical support to bolster his own emotional intelligence and leadership skills. It was only natural that Hinata was included in these strategizing sessions. They spent hundreds of hours that year hunched over strategy guides, watching volleyball footage of their competitors and national teams, bickering over player placements and who got to be which color on their little whiteboard.

Perhaps Tobio had grown too comfortable with their status quo. Maybe he had been naïve to think that, if he stayed quiet and kept everything the same, then nothing would change. But the seasons were passing, months flying by and the years with them. Daichi and Sugawara had graduated and were in university together; Tanaka was running his own personal training business and _dating Shimuzu,_ the absolute mad lad; Asahi and Nishinoya had moved in together and gotten a dog that looked alarmingly like Yū. Yachi was no longer shy but had grown into herself and her confidence. Even Tobio had grown taller, broader, stronger, his features maturing and his voice dropping still deeper.

Hinata had not grown taller, but he was broader, stockier, all muscle and fast-twitch muscles and vibrantly orange hair. His smile had grown, if possible, more effervescent, and his eyes even brighter. His laugh was liable to send Tobio into a small cardiac event.

(So, ignoring his feelings was going _great._ )

It was midway through their third year, reviewing Date Tech footage together in the club room and eating their way through Hinata’s bento, that he dropped the bomb.

“I’m going to Brazil,” he told Tobio. He tapped the space bar on the laptop before them to pause the video.

“Oh,” Tobio said, blinking slowly. His brain was full of thoughts about set-dumps and spikes and blocks and Date Tech’s libero, so he thought he should get a bit of the benefit of the doubt when he went on, “Like for break?”

Hinata chuckled. The laugh did not ring properly in Tobio’s ears. It was his nervous laugh, and that, coupled with the way he struggled to meet Tobio’s gaze and the way he was picking at a loose bit of carpet, told him that Hinata meant for more than just a break.

“After we graduate,” Hinata confirmed, because Tobio did not need to ask him to elaborate; Hinata just knew he needed to. “For beach volleyball. It’ll be different. It’s only two people, and the sand, and the beach! It’ll be so bright! I’ll be all _whoosh_ and _wham_ and…” He pantomimed sprinting and spiking in time with his sound effects, and Tobio felt like his chest was being squeezed in a vice. Hinata looked up at him with those big, toffee-colored eyes, looking somehow both eager and plaintive. “What do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Tobio replied immediately, because it _didn’t._ Hinata’s life was his own, and he could do whatever he wanted with it. He did not need Tobio’s input or permission. (He hadn’t _asked,_ and that did _not_ hurt, no it didn’t.) He wondered how it was possible to be so proud and so heartbroken at the same time. He wondered how it was possible to already miss someone who was not even gone. He wondered how it was possible to mourn a relationship that he’d never really had, that had never started or ended. They were rivals, and best friends, and no ocean was going to stop that.

He ducked his head. “You’ll be fine. Get better. Then try and beat me.”

_You’ll be amazing. You will grow even more. Then come back. I’ll kick your ass all over again and I’ll have missed you every day._

Hinata scoffed. “I’ll _destroy_ you. After two years in Brazil, holding my own in those two-on-two matches? I’ll wipe the gym floor with your face.”

“As if.” Tobio knocked his shoulder against Hinata’s. Hinata knocked him back, laughing. If the expression did not quite reach his eyes, Tobio didn’t mention it.

(Still, he wondered that night – had he said the wrong thing? Had he missed a chance? He could not have, because if Hinata felt something for him he had no doubt the loudmouthed fool would have announced it immediately. But Tobio also struggled to think of another explanation for the flash of anticipation and melancholy he saw in Hinata’s eyes when he thought Tobio wasn’t looking.

He never seemed to think Tobio was looking, and that assured and ached in equal measure.)

They blazed their way through the regional tournaments all the way to nationals. When they won, it felt like – everything. The beginning of the end, and the end of a first chapter. The audience screamed loud enough to shake the ceiling, loud enough it left Tobio’s ears ringing. Nothing felt real: not the lights, not the joy that left him grinning ear to ear, not the sweat on his face or the way his knees were shaking with fatigue. The only thing in the world that felt real was Hinata’s hand in his, palm hot and slippery from sweat and spiking, and his smile, and his voice as he said, “Next time, I’ll be on the other side of the net.”

Tobio wondered how it was possible to feel _so freaking much._ Joy, laughter, pain, exhaustion, weariness, trepidation, anticipation. He put on a smile for his team at their huge buffet dinner outing and then he stared out the window as the bus started to finally take them back to Karasuno. Hinata’s head lolled onto his shoulder in the first ten minutes, and Tobio allowed himself the weakness of pressing his cheek into his rival’s hair, even if he smelled like sweat and spicy deodorant.

(This was all he was allowed, he reminded himself. Hinata snuffled out a sigh, breath ghosting through the material of Tobio’s t-shirt. _This is all you are allowed._

_You have goals to achieve.)_

After nationals, Tobio received a call from a representative from the Japanese National Team. They wanted him to come in for some team practices, to “get a feel for him,” whatever that meant.

“It means they’re recruiting you, dumbass!” Hinata shouted at him when he told him over lunch the next day, rice flying from his lips. Disgusting. How was Tobio in love with him.

“That’s my word,” Tobio chided. “And wipe your mouth. You’re gross.”

_“Mama_ -yama,” Hinata grumbled petulantly under his breath. He accepted the napkin Tobio passed him and swiped it over his lips and chin. “Anyway, if you don’t take this, I’m going to spike another volleyball into your big stupid head.”

“As if you could aim,” Tobio scoffed. “And of course I’m taking it. I’m taking the train up this weekend.”

“Good,” Hinata said, folding his arms over his chest. “Tell me how it goes. Don’t suck.”

They had been friends long enough that Tobio knew how to interpret that as _good luck; you will be amazing; don’t choke; text me when you get there._

Four days later, Tobio called Hinata the second he stepped outside of the practice center’s glass doors. His breath fogged up the air.

_“Baka-yama?”_ Hinata greeted midway through the first ring, like he had been waiting for his phone to ring. Tobio shoved the ridiculous thought from his mind. There were some things this greedy king was meant to want but never have. _“How’d it go? What happened? Are you hurt? Did you serve a volleyball into the star spiker’s head?”_

“They offered me a spot,” Tobio said. He tripped over half the words in his rush to say them. He had not even called his parents or sister yet; his only thought had been that he needed to tell Hinata first. “The team offered me a spot.”

_“Duh? Of course they did,”_ Hinata said, his tone implying that was assumed all along and he thought Tobio was a big fat dummy for thinking otherwise. 

(And when had that changed? When had Hinata become his biggest cheerleader, as well as his biggest headache? When had that headache gone away, leaving only the heartache behind?)

“I took it,” Tobio said. “I move to Tokyo the week after graduation.”

_“That’s cool!”_ Hinata said. _“Guess that means you need to learn how to cook for yourself, huh?”_

“Shut up, asshole, I can feed myself just fine –”

_“You make steamed fish and rice and eggs and curry.”_

“Says the man who can’t boil an egg without setting his house on fire.”

_“That was once!”_

Tobio laughed; Hinata spluttered incoherently; and he told himself over and over in his head, repeating the words like a mantra or a prayer, _this is enough. This is enough. This is enough. You don’t get both._

The annual training camp came around again. It was coming up on a year now since Tobio realized his feelings and decided to keep them to himself. The first years reacted with a wide-eyed eagerness and fascination that left Tobio feeling nostalgic and indescribably old. Eighteen was hardly ancient, and yet… he did find himself looking around at his underclassmen and wondering what he might do differently, if he had the chance to do it all again.

He would do much better on his tests, he was sure.

(Then he saw Hinata grinning with some first years over a grill, meat skewer in his hand, and he thought that he really wouldn’t change a thing.)

Yamaguchi sidled up to where Tobio was finishing washing the dishes after dinner. Over the years, he had grown out of his timid demeanor. He was still soft-spoken, still quiet everywhere but the court, but the mischievous grin on his face was not out of place.

“Are you ready for tonight, Tobio?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Tobio told him flatly. He handed Yamaguchi a wet plate and a towel. “Here, help me with this.”

Yamaguchi really was too nice for all of them. He only accepted the towel and started helping Tobio. After a few minutes, he said, “Third-year’s tradition. We go out to the beach, get a little tipsy, and talk about the good times. Supposed to be a last hurrah.”

“We’re on a school trip,” Tobio reminded him, listing all the ways this was going to go wrong. “We’re not old enough to drink. We have nothing _to_ drink. I don’t drink in any case.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Yamaguchi replied mildly. He was quiet for a few minutes before he added, “Hinata’s coming. I figured you might want to spend more time with him before he leaves for Brazil.”

Tobio’s hands stilled under the scalding, soapy water. Did Yamaguchi know? Did he suspect? Did anyone _else_ know?

“I know you’re close friends,” Yamaguchi said.

Tobio let out a long breath. “I’ll think about it.”

It was a lie. As soon as lights-out was called and the third years started getting up and moving about, Tobio threw off his own blankets and got up to follow. They snuck out the back door, leaving it cracked just a bit so they could get back in. Their walk to the beach was quiet, and Tobio allowed himself a few moments to simply look up at the starry night sky over their heads. The half-moon glowed an ethereal white and dozens of little stars twinkled around it. Their shine caught on the rolling waves of the Pacific. Tobio was pulled from his thoughts when Yamaguchi, ever the prepared captain, spread out a blanket he’d stolen from the house for them to sit on.

“What are we drinking?” Hinata asked, sitting cross-legged on the ground. “I’ve never done this before.”

Tsukishima snorted out a laugh from a private joke Tobio was positive was both rude and crude. However, he only pulled out a green bottle from his bag. “Sake. Tanaka got it for us. He said it’s sweet, so we should all like it.”

With that, he unscrewed the lid and sipped. He made a face, grimacing, and then he handed the bottle off to Yamaguchi. Who handed it to Hinata. Who tried to pass it to Tsukishima.

“Not partaking, king?” Tsukishima asked, lifting a blond brow. “The peasant swill not fine enough for your palette?”

“Fuck off, Tsuki, he doesn’t need to drink if he doesn’t want,” Hinata said. He tried to hand the bottle to Tsukishima again.

Tobio _knew_ that he shouldn’t have caved to Tsukishima’s bullshit. He was only trying to get a rise out of him, because Tsukishima was an _asshole_ and that’s all he knew how to do. But he _knew_ Tobio’s weak spot was his pride and his competitive side, and the night was _very_ nice, all stars and cool breezes, and Hinata was there, shining under the glow of it all, and Hinata would be leaving soon, and there would be no more nights like this, on the beach or in the practice room or on their bedroom floors, and he would be an ocean and a million miles away and nothing would be the same. So Tobio snatched the bottle from Hinata’s hands and took several long gulps. The sake was indeed sweet, though it left a sour, bitter taste on the back of his tongue.

“Your turn,” Tobio said, handing the bottle out. Tsukishima smirked at him, and he drank.

The next hour passed much like this, them all taking turns passing the bottle. Though the four boys were long past their days of open animosity, they still were not particularly close. The first half of the bottle was a bit awkward, until Yamaguchi and Hinata started talking about Brazil. And Hinata beamed at the idea of sun and sand and beaches forever, smile luminous and skin silvery, and Tobio knew he was staring, but Hinata was _leaving,_ and for the first time Tobio truly _realized that._ That his best friend was leaving. That he, himself, was going pro. That everything was changing.

Hinata procured a volleyball from somewhere, because _of course_ he had one, and he challenged Yamaguchi to see how long they could go without it hitting the ground. Well, in truth, he challenged all of them. But Tsukishima shook his head and said he could admire the view better from here, and Tobio’s world was going warm and hazy and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself trying to set. So he declined, as well, and he sat with his long legs splayed out in front of him, toes in the sand, as he watched them play.

Hinata was beautiful like this. He _glowed,_ hair and skin and smile and personality, and everything about it made Tobio’s chest ache. He was solid muscle and enthusiasm and he dove for the volleyball and ended up with a face full of sand. He sat up, spitting, and flipped his middle finger at Tobio when he overheard him laughing. He told himself this was all just the growing pains of a first love, and that it would all fade away as soon as he and Hinata were no longer attached at the hip every single day.

“So…” Tsukishima said finally. “Are you going to tell him?”

Tobio stiffened. His fingers clenched in the blanket. “Tell who what?”

“I’m not playing games, king,” Tsukishima sighed tiredly. “It’s been _forever._ Are you going to tell Hinata that you’ve been in love with him for years before he goes to Brazil? Or are you going to keep pining away like an idiot?”

“Didn’t think you cared,” Tobio snapped. There was no force to it though, not really. He had long since gotten over the animosity between them. Now he just thought Tsukishima was an annoying prick.

“I don’t, really,” Tsukishima said. “I just know it’s… hard, going without when you wish you could go with. So I wanted to offer… you know…”

Tobio frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m offering… ugh, one sec,” Tsukishima said, and then he lifted the sake to his lips and took several gulps. Tobio raised his eyebrows. Tsukishima finally lowered the bottle to grind out, “I’m offering to listen. If you need someone to talk to.”

“And you needed to drink like you were dying to offer me that?” Tobio asked dryly.

“Yeah.” Tsukishima wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Tobio made a non-committal noise. “What did you mean when you said, you know what it’s like to go without?”

Tsukishima stared. “Seriously?”

Tobio glared back, affronted. “What?”

“Wow.” Tsukishima laughed aloud. “You _are_ an idiot.” He turned his gaze back to the beach, where Yamaguchi and Hinata were now in a competition to see who could bounce the volleyball on their head the longest. “Yama and I have been together for, like, two years?”

Tobio whipped his head around to gape at him. _“Really?”_

“Yes?” Tsukishima said irritably. “Wow, you really are this stupid. I thought you were just a dick.”

“You never acted like it,” Tobio told him.

“Yeah, because we can actually communicate about things and not shout and bluster and hang all over each other,” Tsukishima said with a pointed look. “Pretty easy to slip under the radar when you and Hinata are just _like that_ all the time. But I thought I’d offer, since it’s been three years of this weird in-between. Are you going to tell him before he leaves or not?”

Tobio frowned. He ducked his head so his chin almost touched his chest. “No. I’m not.”

“Hm.” Tobio could feel the waves of judgement rolling off of Tsukishima. It made him want to stuff sand down the back of his shirt. “And why is that?”

“Because – because!” Tobio snarled. He could feel the chaotic tangle of his emotions crowding around his chest, creeping up his throat. “Because we’re friends. Rivals. I’m not going to fuck that up. And I – _we_ have goals. Going pro, the Olympics, everything. Winning it all.”

“You haven’t told me why you’re not _telling him you like him,_ though,” Tsukishima reminded him.

“Yes, I did,” Tobio snapped. “We plan to go pro. So I can’t tell him.”

Tsukishima was quiet for a few minutes, thank God. Tobio closed his eyes to relish in the peace of it. Feel the ocean breeze on his face. Listen to the waves. Listen to Hinata’s laugh carrying over the sound.

Tsukishima ruined the quiet by opening his mouth, as he always did. But to Tobio’s surprise, the words weren’t as cutting as he anticipated. “You think you can’t have both. And to ask for more would send the whole thing toppling down.”

Tobio sighed. He snatched the bottle from Tsukishima and sipped. The rice wine was even more bitter now that it was warming. “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Tsukishima hummed. “Wanna hear what I think about that?”

“Not really.”

“I think,” Tsukishima went on immediately, because, again, _bastard,_ “That you’re scared. And stupid.”

Tobio bristled. Sarcastically, he snapped, “No, tell me what you really think.”

“Sure.” Tsukishima agreed easily. “I think that you wouldn’t be half the player or person you are without Hinata. I think you know that. I think you’re so scared of failure and being left behind that you’re clinging to this friendship you both _so obviously_ want to be more. I think you’ve spent your whole life thinking you have to do everything on your own. I think you’ve had your whole life planned out from like, third grade, and now that you’ve had someone come into your life that makes you question it you’re scared shitless. Which is _extra_ stupid and selfish, because Hinata would _want_ you to keep doing what you’re doing, and he would _support_ you in that, and you’re too stupid and stubborn to actually talk about it. It’s so dumb, and it’s exhausting to watch, because it’s so clear you can have it all, you greedy bastard, and for once in your life you won’t bother to take it.”

Tobio glared at him, but he had no reply. What even could he say? Tsukishima was right. He had read his entire life for filth in that snobby, tipsy monologue of his. All he could too was stare at the sand. “Second grade, actually. And I liked you better when we were at each others’ throats.”

“Me, too,” Tsukishima agreed. “Bastard.”

“Dickhead.”

They lapsed into companionable silence, watching Yamaguchi and Hinata toss the ball back and forth. So far as Tobio could tell, it had never it the ground. Eventually the two decided they’d had enough and they returned to the blanket. Now that he knew the truth, Tobio was amazed he had been so _stupid_ to miss the way Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were with one another: the casual comfort with which Yamaguchi sat beside his boyfriend, the way the stern lines around Tsukishima’s mouth softened. It was obvious to anyone with half a brain cell.

Which made sense that he and Hinata missed it, Tobio conceded. They only had the one that bounced between them like a volleyball.

“Oh, is there more of that?” Hinata asked, reaching for the bottle. Before anyone could reply, he lifted the bottle to his lips and drank deeply.

“Oi, dumbass,” Tobio said, kicking at Hinata’s thigh. “Lay off. It’s not water.”

“Oh, right,” Hinata said, like he had just remembered. Tobio slapped his hand to his forehead.

Yamaguchi laughed. “Hinata, you seem tired. Tsukishima, I found some crabs down the beach. Want to look with me?”

“No fair!” Hinata whined. “I want crabs!”

“Maybe after you take a break,” Tsukishima snickered while Tobio just ground his palm into his eyes. Idiot. This man was an _idiot._ When had Tobio become a morosexual? Or was that just part of Hinata’s charm? “Relax. Drink more. Take care of him, Kageyama.”

“Get fucked,” Tobio said tiredly. Tsukishima’s only reply was to raise his eyebrows once in a lewd gesture. Tobio rolled his eyes.

Hinata giggled apropos of nothing. He lay down on the blanket, limbs sprawled out and hair a curly mess. “Look at the sky with me, Kageyama!”

Tobio looked down at Hinata. His friend was looking up at him with those big, dumb, sweet eyes of his. The fucking stars sparkled in the dark brown. _Sparkled._ Tobio never had a chance.

“Fine,” he said gruffly. He settled down onto his back, his gaze up at the sky. Hinata, touchy little thing he was, squirmed over so his shoulder was pressed against Tobio’s. He could feel the heat of Hinata’s skin from shoulder to elbow to wrist. He smelled like salt and sea and sand. Dimly, he wondered if Hinata was trying to kill him.

For a several minutes they lay together in companionable silence. Tobio closed his eyes, allowing himself a few greedy, selfish moments to bask in this. His best friend so close, the warm sand under the blanket, the salty breeze, the stars over them.

Finally, however, Hinata had to break the silence. “Kageyama.”

“Hn?”

“Do you know any constellations?”

Tobio frowned. “No.”

“Me neither.”

Tobio thought that was it. An attempt at conversation, short and stilted, falling flat. The first indicator of things to come. Of the vast distance between them, starting in literal miles and then growing into a chasm they could never breach. They would drift apart, as high school friends and teammates did, and Hinata would become a beautiful, shining memory. Tobio was pretty sure he could live with that, if it gave him this last night, these last few moments.

But no. Because Hinata Shouyo, Tobio had somehow forgotten, always surprised him. With wide jumps and curry buns, with a smile on his worst days and a volleyball to the back of his head on his good ones.

Hinata’s right hand caught Tobio’s left wrist where they lay side-by-side, and he lifted it into the air and started _pointing._ “Then let’s make some up! There’s so many stars, it’s like connect-the-dots! Let’s see. Um, that one looks kind of like a volleyball, and that cluster there kind of like a net. That one looks sort of like Kindaichi’s stupid onion hair –”

Tobio wanted to scoff and tell Hinata that this wasn’t how constellations worked. He wanted to laugh at Hinata’s enthusiasm. He wanted to cry, because he was going to _miss this so much._ But instead, he made himself swallow those feelings, and link his hand with Hinata’s so their pointer fingers were lined up, and trace shapes in the night sky, as well. They found Sugawara’s little cowlick, and one of Ukai’s steamed buns, and a tennis racket, and a crab (although the crab had actually crawled over Hinata’s foot, making him shriek and Tobio laugh from his stomach).

“And the moon!” Hinata finished, pointing their fingers up at the sky.

“That’s not a constellation,” Tobio reminded him.

“I _know,_ Baka-yama,” Hinata said. Tobio did not have to look at him to know he was rolling his eyes. He went quiet for a few moments. “I just think, sometimes.”

“Really?” Tobio asked sarcastically. “Since when?”

“Shut _up,”_ Hinata cried, knocking his shoulder against Tobio’s. He let their hands fall to their sides, though he didn’t release his hold on Tobio’s fingers. He loosened his grip, as if allowing Tobio the chance to pull away if he wanted. Emboldened by the solitude and the darkness and four sips of mediocre rice wine, he kept his hand where he was.

“I just think, sometimes,” Hinata told him, and Tobio wondered if something had emboldened him, too. “When I go to Brazil. I’ll be so far away. And it’s really exciting. And it’s really scary. Because I’ll miss all my friends and family. But sometimes I think I’ll miss you the most of all of them.”

Tobio suddenly became aware of how fast his heart was racing in this chest. His face was hot, his palms going clammy. He reminded himself – _Hinata is saying this because he is soft and tipsy and a gooey disaster of a human. He is disgustingly sentimental. This is enough, this is enough, this is enough. You cannot have both._

_You cannot have both._

“And then I think,” Hinata murmured. “There’s the moon, right? Even an ocean away, we’re under the same moon. So maybe sometimes, Kageyama will look up at the sky, and he’ll think of me, too.”

Hinata’s head twisted, studying his profile. Tobio felt his gaze roaming over his face. He wondered what Hinata thought when he looked at him, if he ever saw beauty there. He hoped for it and feared it. Swallowing thickly, Tobio turned his head to meet Hinata’s gaze. The moonlight had turned his face to silver, highlighting the freckles over his nose. His lashes cast shadows under his eyes.

“Will you think of me, too, Kageyama?” Hinata asked hesitantly. He looked… shy. Afraid. Unsure. Like he really had no idea, like he thought there might be any answer that wasn’t _yes, idiot, of course. I already do._

_You cannot have both,_ Tobio’s head shouted at his heart.

_You already do,_ Tobio’s greedy heart yelled back at his head.

But Tobio wasn’t listening to either, nor was he thinking, really. Because Hinata looked so _beautiful_ like that, and so _nervous,_ and the latter was _unacceptable,_ because Hinata was supposed to be headstrong and daring and dive into every challenge before him. Tobio’s first and only thought was that it would be an excellent idea to reach up with his free right hand and catch Hinata’s jaw just under his chin to keep him in place and press his lips to his.

And it was… sandy. A bit dry. Hinata’s lips tasted like salt air and sweet wine. His lips barely shifted against Tobio’s, uncertain and unpracticed. A few moments later, Tobio pulled away.

“Dumbass,” Tobio muttered with the same tone and cadence of a love confession. But Hinata was Hinata, and he knew Tobio in and out without him ever needing to say a word.

So Hinata just grinned at him, wide and perfect and Tobio _knew_ that he would always feel like this for Hinata, for this five-five, spunky, annoying asshole who spiked his way through all of Tobio’s ideas about what his life was supposed to be. And now, things were not… all that different. He was still going pro. Still in a straight line to the top.

But running parallel to him, always and forever, his best friend and partner and rival, would be Hinata Shouyo. And neither would stop until they got there.

“Idiot,” Hinata laughed, and Tobio kissed his stupid mouth again.

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, thank you so much for reading!!!! if you enjoyed, please leave a comment/kudos!
> 
> if you like, i can be found on my tumblr at [notantherwritingblog.](https://notantherwritingblog.tumblr.com/) most of my writings are _hunter x hunter_ and _fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood._ thank you again!!!


End file.
